The other Entente Cordiale
by Ayi et Ondulation
Summary: If one day, Arthur and Francis get married... Entente Cordiale was an agreement between Britain and France, signed on April 8, 1904. For most Hetalian fans in Asia who ship FrUK, April 8th is regarded as the "Dover Day". (like May 22nd for Gerita) Original work by Ayi in Chinese, translated by me, Ondulation. We DO NOT own Hetalia!


**Arthur's POV**

"We should have been in this carriage long time ago."

He suddenly speaks up while looking at the cheering crowds through the window.

Of course I know what he means. We could have been in this carriage in 1940, but he refused my proposal without any doubt. Even during an era with so much instability, he still refused to bow down his proud head. My proposal certainly meant to be the last chance for him, but his obtuse and corrupt boss still chose to refuse it.

I remember after he turned down my proposal, I was shocked and furious, it was almost a humiliation to me. He smiled bitterly and said, "I know I am hopeless, in your eyes, also in my eyes. But I am not getting married to you, Arthur, I am not getting married to you. At least not now."

I knew what his concerns were: his colonies overseas, but more importantly, his reputation and pride.

Some worthless and ridiculous things are rather extremely important for him. But that is probably why I found him so charming. Those idealistic but naïve mentalities, sometimes quite exciting indeed, just like his behaviours, silly but caught my heart.

Our second chance was 1958. But I refused this time. I could clearly recall the same humiliation and desperation on his face after my parliament made the announcement. I was in no better conditions than him. Thanks to my beloved young brother, I burned and fell like a shooting star, with the last glamour of glory, soon I would crush, decay and break.

"Why can't we just get along?" He looks at the crowds outside, "we hate each other, we know each other's weakness and pain, but we still end up being together… How do you call this… like a long-married couple?"

"Cannot get along? Probably just not the right time yet." I turn aside, with my arms crossed, and look at the window on the other side, "Only if we are two parallel lines, but too unfortunately, we approach each other with the slightest angle."

We thought we could just look at each other, but we did get closer and closer, and eventually we would become one.

The carriage turned around, I know where we are, without needing to look up.

The guards in red come to open the door for us. I come down first, I stretch out my hand, Francis puts his white-gloved hand in mine. Steadily, I carry him, no, I lead him down the carriage.

With a typical administrative smile, he nods at the guests, as if he is the only star of the day.

"Your royal highness, my princess, I will guide you. This way." I speak in ancient French, in a voice that only the two of us can hear, I squeeze lightly the still shaking hand in mine, which indicates that he only appears to be calm.

We walk to the end of the red carpet, hand in hand. We turn back on the top of the stairs and look at the cheering crowds and of course, the media.

"It is nice to see that people still care about us." I said in a sarcasm voice. I also smile like him to the crowds, the media and the thousands of audiences on the other side of their television screens.

"Most likely because of me, nobody would want to see a tart country which has nothing to do with beauty like you…" He spoke so fast in French, that his voice was mixed with lots of gasping and shaking. Before I could argue back, he kissed me firmly on my lips.

The crow cheered even more. So I had to swallow down my half-finished harsh response and wave back.

On our way to the cathedral, as a punishment for him (I doubt if that was also a punishment for me), I let go of his and kept my eyes on the road ahead me, I did not even set a slightest gaze onto him.

But other than the circuits of the wedding ceremony, my brain just could not help constantly imaging his appearance today. His hair, smoother than how it usually was, was loosely tied back in the tri-colour ribbon. That blended and balanced the feminine and heroic parts him perfectly. That bloody good-looking face, that Siren-like face which can seduce the sailors into storms, was more radiant that I ever remembered. His violet eyes were the night sky full of stars. So beautiful and mysterious that I willingly get seduced by them even knowing all the following consequences.

But that was not the most impressing thing. I almost lost control of myself and acted like a teenager who could not hide his amusement as well as embarrassment when I saw the violet suit he wore today. Right, that was from the time when his boss was still Le Roi (the king). The suit was well made, it displayed every splendid curve of his body without being too exaggerated. But that was not the only thing that surprised me. He never wore it after the revolution that abolished the monarchy.

Back to those days when he still wore it, he was my longing, my desire that cannot be spoken.

Three hundred years after the abolition of the French monarchy, he put it on once again. This time, the only difference that I noticed was, his suit picked some details and designs from the British red uniform that I wore. For instance, the chain across his shoulder and the badges in front of his chest. And the riband. Wait…. The riband…

I attempted to chase those ideas out of mind, they did not belong to this holy moment. Damnit… I still could not stop thinking about that… That scarlet ribbons on his blue suit, hanging from his shoulder to his waist and tying an elegant shaped bow there… How would that look like, if I use them to tie his wrists, or his ankles?

Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, I realized we were already inside the cathedral. "Thinking about how to undress my suit?" his voice dropped to the volume only I could hear, I could picture the smirk on his face without turning my head.

"No, I was thinking to how to choke you using this riband. I changed my mind."

The words came out of my mouth without much hesitation. I knew the violet blue eyes would not show any unsteady emotions. We knew each other too well, so that we could argue and fight by our hearts. Just muscular memories of our mouths would be sufficient to throw a bunch of sarcastic words towards each other.

"Les conséquences sont graves, mon petit lapin. (French: The consequences are severe, my little bunny)"

"Rien de plus que le canal de Suez, oui?" (French: nothing more than the Suez Canal, right?)

"Oh non? Mais maintenant, vous ne pouvez pas vous le permettre." (French: oh right? But you cannot afford it now.)

This old frog! I glared at him, now I almost really changed my mind.

But unfortunately, it was already too late. We were standing in front of the pope. Wedding hymns echoed in the cathedral. It pleased me as this ceremony was in English, the correct English, of course. As we discussed the circuits of the wedding, Francis just shrugged when he heard the entire ceremony would be held in English. His ambassador explained, our wedding would be put on television, for the sake of the audience, English would be the most convenient language.

His pride and stubborn were gradually smoothened. I barely heard his annoying French accent. Instead, his English was almost same as BBC English (we all knew whose influence it must be), and the equally annoying "wrong English" [1].

But I was the same. Pride and Glory, all gone like the down-tides.

 _We are gathered here, in the site of God_

"I also wanted to change my mind, you know?" he suddenly murmured during the oath.

 _And in the face of this world_

I glanced at him, said nothing.

 _To join the two countries in Holy Matrimony._

"But the consequences of turning you down are too much." I could not capture his expression by one glance, but I heard a quiet sigh. But after my oath, I could hold his hand without any hesitation.

" _I, Arthur Kirkland, the Untied Kingdom, take thee, Francis Bonnefoy to my wedded husband, to have and to keep from this day forward, to love and to cherish, till death us do apart. I give thee my troth."_

I held his hand and spoke the oath that I already broke several times. Believe me, I did not practice this in 1940 and 1958. I sensed warmth from his gloved hand. He nervously pursed his lips, his gaze somehow unsteady.

" _I, Francis Bonnefoy, République française_ _，_ _take thee, Arthur Kirkland to my wedded husband, to have and to keep from this day forward,to love and to cherish, till death us do part. I give thee my troth."_

He lifted his hand up, and recited the oath—God knows if he had practiced before. In the beginning he spoke in the correct English, the accent that was almost identical as mine. But the last sentence still had a slight naughty up-toned twist of French accent.

The pope handed the ring to me. I took off his white glove and slid the ring on his ring finger. The hand-made gold ring reminded me of the ring I used in my third propose (maybe it was the last one). That ring was almost like a joke.

A "ring", made of some plant stems, maybe rose, according to my understanding of his ridiculous romance, but certainly without thorns.

"Your eyes are pretty. More beautiful than the most precious emerald, like the forest in mid summer. I see hope and energy that never die out through your beautiful green eyes."

After my nod of approval, the only sensations I remembered were his warm hug, and this sentence he said in a low, husky voice.

That propose was last summer. We were in a vintage boat, in the mid of somewhere in the ocean.

TBC


End file.
